14. abbi #2
My stomach sinks. Have we done her a disservice by pretending everything is okay? Have we set unrealistic expectations? Set her up for failure?
But then I look at her and Luke, and I don’t think there’s anything that would tear them apart.
He dotes on her, and she dotes equally on him.
They are painfully honest with each other in terms of what’s acceptable and what isn’t.
They have an openness and honesty between them that I’m unfamiliar with.
I admire their ability to lay their cards on the table, so to speak, and sort out their molehills before they become mountains.
Maybe I should take a page out of my daughter’s book.
But I’ve never been that way. Even with the neglect I experienced at home, I shared none of it with Nix.
He has no idea of the loneliness I experienced growing up.
The disappointment of having absent parents who felt building their careers and bank balance was more important than building a relationship with their kids.
I never wanted him to know. I never wanted him to look at me with pity, and I certainly didn’t want him to think I wasn’t worth his time.
After all, I wasn’t worth my parents’ time.
I’ve never spoken up for myself because I was never given a voice.
It’s not a skill I learned. I don’t know how to navigate the space between holding everything inside until I explode and the space where I ask for what I need like an adult.
I’d rather shrink inside myself than create waves or deal with an uncomfortable situation.
In my youth, I did my best to take up as little space as possible in my parents’ busy lives.
And I feel I’m doing the same again now.
I dropped a bomb on Nix when I asked him for a divorce, then I ran away.
I broke down and told him how I’ve been feeling, but then I shut down.
I sort of told him what I need, then realized I’m equally at fault in our marriage and went back to avoiding him.
I haven’t sat down and had an honest and open conversation with him.
I’ve done nothing that can facilitate genuine change.
And if I don’t want to walk away from my marriage—which, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t—I need both of us to make real and lasting changes.
I need to get uncomfortable. I need to become comfortable with discomfort.
And asking for what I need is going to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences to date.
Because when it comes down to it, I love Nix too much to walk away. I just need him to love me equally. To value me equally. To become a partner in our marriage. To want me by his side when things are tough for him. For us to deal with things as a couple instead of separately.
Today would have been the perfect opportunity for some of that to happen.
Had Nix asked me to go to the hospital with him, he would have shown me we’re partners—that he needs me as much as I need him—instead of him dealing with ‘his man’ on his own.
I would give anything to be by his side at what I’m certain is a difficult and stressful time for him.
He could have leaned on me instead of pushing me aside.
A hand squeezing mine pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Mom, are you okay?”
I lift my eyes to my daughter’s, so much like mine except hers are filled with excitement and light, while mine have dimmed after years of disappointment. “I’m fine. I worry about your father driving when he was clearly worried for his friend.”
She smiles at me. “He’ll be fine. Dad’s good at keeping his head in stressful situations.”
I try to return the gesture, but fall short. “I know.”
I loop the pretty lilac wool around the hook and pull it through the stitch.
The distant rumble of the garage door opening splits the silence, and I carefully put down my project, then make my way through the mudroom to the door separating the house from the garage.
I pull my sweater tighter around my body against the chill.
Nix’s headlights blind me, but once he comes to a stop and turns them off, I get a good look at him.
He looks exhausted. He’s been burning the candle at both ends lately, thanks to me, and now this.
He needs some TLC.
I’ve been so caught up in my hurt, I’ve forgotten that I actually love my husband.
That I care about his well-being. He’s been making changes to his schedule to be more available, but I’ve done nothing to meet him halfway.
In fact, I’ve been more withdrawn. Maybe that’s why he didn’t consider taking me with him today.
The emotional distance between us is too great, and he didn’t think he could lean on me.
I hurriedly step into the garage and make my way around to his door before he can open it. He jumps a little, obviously too tired to notice me. His eyes light up when they land on me, and a broken fragment heals itself at that tiny response that I may have taken for granted any other day.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey,” he returns, smiling tiredly, as he releases his seatbelt and climbs out of his truck.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he tugs me close and kisses my temple. My eyes burn at the gesture, and I wrap my arm around his waist and press my palm to his chest. “How is he?”
“He’s in the ICU. He was in bad shape, but he’s improving. They’ll probably move him tomorrow,” he tells me.
“Oh, god.” I squeeze Nix tighter, my heart hurting for his friend and for Nix.
He squeezes me back, and we make our way inside after closing the garage. “I stayed until Hope and Evan left. I didn’t want to leave them without support. Shane’s like an uncle to Evan, and I know he and Hope are close.”
“Of course. How were they?”
He shrugs as he toes off his shoes in the mudroom.
“They’ll be okay.” He stops, looking at me with caution.
“I’m sorry about rushing out of here. I …
” He shakes his head a little. “I forget he’s not my responsibility anymore and I don’t need to rush to his bedside.
He has plenty of people who care about him.
The waiting room was packed with friends and family.
” A soft smile tugs at his lips as if he’s remembering a happy moment.
“I think he’s finally found his happiness. ”
I lead him into the kitchen and pull out a chair. “Yeah? Tell me more while I feed you. You must be starving.”
He huffs a chuckle. “I could eat.” Tugging on my hand, he swaps our positions. “But I can get it. You sit.”
I push his shoulders. “No way, I’ve got this.”
He tells me about Violet and Jasmine and their connection to Toby Summer, the rock star Shane works for, while I prepare a sandwich with the steak and salad that was left over from this afternoon.
While I’m at it, I scoop some salad into a bowl for myself, then pour two glasses of sparkling lemon water.
“Oh, and guess who I met,” he blurts after gulping down his entire glass of water.
I grab the water bottle and refill his glass. “Who?”
“Rose Phillips. The garden architect Theo told us about. I swear we live in a small world.” He chuckles mildly at the coincidence. “She’s going to stop by next weekend.”
My eyes widen. I hadn’t gotten around to calling her, too busy avoiding my husband. “Wow. That’s quite a coincidence.”
“Yeah, when she introduced herself to me, I thought the name was uncommon, so I asked her what she did for a living. I mentioned how Theo had given us her number.” He looks up at me.
“She had nothing but praise for Theo and his work, so I definitely feel comfortable having him work on our project.” He grabs half of his sandwich.
“Anyway, I know you were going to manage that part of our garden renovation, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
I hope you don’t mind.” He peers at me, his sandwich paused halfway to his mouth as he checks in with me.
I wave him away. “Of course. It was the perfect opportunity. Why would you waste it?”
“I wasn’t trying to take anything away from you. I just want you to know that.”
“I would never think that. We’re a team.” Or we used to be. Not so much these days. “And our goal is to get our backyard ready for Prue’s wedding.” I shrug.
Maybe this would be a good time to talk about the way we don’t work as a team anymore.
How divided our marriage feels to me. How he shuts me out and makes me feel isolated whenever something comes up with work or ‘his men’.
But when I study Nix’s face, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines across his forehead deepening by the day, I realize now isn’t the time.
He’s exhausted, and nothing good can come from a conversation we have right now.
I just need to look after him tonight. We can talk another day. A whisper in the back of my mind says I should initiate the conversation. After all, keeping things inside is what’s gotten us into this mess. But I can’t bring myself to say anything. It doesn’t feel like the right moment.
I scoff at myself. How would I know when the right moment is? I go out of my way to maintain the status quo. I wouldn’t recognize the right moment to have a difficult conversation if it came up and slapped me in the face.
Nix’s warm, calloused hand slides over mine, and he tangles our fingers together. Some of the tension releases from my body at his comforting touch. “You okay?” His worried gaze flits around my face as if he can work out what I’m thinking just by looking at me.
I force my lips to widen. “Yeah. Of course.”